


stain his soul

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e04 The End, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg in Endverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stain his soul

**Author's Note:**

> It's August 2014. The End is nigh.

Meg is rocking herself lazily on a swing in a pretty park on a sunny afternoon, watching a handful of freshly-turned croats enjoy their lunch on the jungle gym, when the summons hooks low in her gut and _pulls_.

She couldn't resist if she tried. Between one blink and the next, she's yanked through the ether and deposited in--she can't help the double-take--a shitty motel room in shades of olive and puce, with a single bed, broken salt lines at the door and windows, and Sam Winchester on his knees, his downturned, stone-blank face streaked with drying tears. Her hand twitches to compel him to stay motionless even as she realises they're not the only ones in the room.

"Wonderful news, my child," Lucifer greets her, coming around the bed to cup her face in his hands. She leans into his blistered palms, closes her eyes beneath the benediction of his cracked lips pressing briefly to her forehead. Smiles up at him as he _beams_ down at her. "Sam has said yes to me."

He says it so simply, it takes a moment to register. "He said yes?" she repeats, and then it lands, moments late, with a surge of joy through her stolen body, head to fingertips to toes, hot and sweet and strong. It startles a laugh out of her, pure delight, and in her periphery, Sam jolts at the sound. "You got him? We _won_?"

Lucifer's hands lift from her cheeks. "Yes, I've won," he says, and turns from her to smile fondly down at Sam's bowed head.

But he's still wearing his old vessel, the temp still rotting away at the seams. "Then I don't--I'm sorry, Father, I don't understand--why--"

"Why I haven't yet taken possession? Unfortunately," Lucifer sighs, still looking down at Sam like he's a well-meaning puppy that brought him his slippers covered in drool, "and through no fault of his own, Sam has come to me unprepared."

"I didn't know," Sam says quietly at their feet. His voice is hoarse, like he's been screaming for days.

Meg's excitement dims with the realisation that something's happening here, something she doesn't fully understand. But it's Lucifer standing before her: her god, her father, her purpose, her cause. It's _Lucifer_ , telling her they've got what they need, finally, to _win_. She tries to hide her wariness. "Didn't know what?"

Lucifer looks up at her again. Straight past her meatsuit to the sooty, vitiated soul within. "He needs you, my child," he says. "I need you," and his earnest intensity makes the pulse she doesn't need pound through her veins.

And then he's holding a knife.

It could be any demon's blood, he tells her. Sam could drain anyone, gorge himself on anyone, stain his soul with _anyone_. But Lucifer wants it to be her. He wants her blood to slick his way.

"You've served me so faithfully, Meg," he murmurs, tracing his thumb over the shape of her lips, ghosting his peeling fingertips down the column of her throat. Her pulse _pounds_. "Will you serve me once more?"

Meg is a dutiful daughter.

She takes the knife.


End file.
